bal-lantine:

James flicks the corner of the drying map. “For a man so adamant he
had to leave, you are doing a piss-poor job of staying gone.”

John
is tired and fairly wrecked from his own hangover. He doesn’t think he
has the stamina of an alcoholic, to feel like this every morning. He
doesn’t know how Flint does it. “So once again I end up hanging around
you. Can you really claim to be surprised?”

James finally turns and meets his eyes. “Yes.”

He
walks wearily over to the cot and sits on the edge next to the other
man. Ignoring how James stiffens, he leans forward and examines the map
spread out over the small table.

It’s cleanly done, almost astonishingly so. He notes the neat penmanship of the lettering and the matching “J.F.” signed in the corner. The signature is small and unobtrusive, so unlike the man it belongs to.

“One would never guess the hand that drafted this was prone to shaking,” he comments.

James says, rather severely, “I am
capable of functioning. I was drunk for almost the entirety of my first
year after leaving England, and it didn’t stop me from gaining my
captaincy over the Walrus crew.”

“Do you imagine I find that in any way reassuring?” John asks, and he turns to look at him, honestly curious.

The final chapter of Post Stall is now up!